Some of life's most extraordinary experiences are prefaced by barely noticeable events: a note on a refrigerator door minutes before a fatal accident; the phrase, "They're working me to the death," just hours prior to a sudden death.

For me such a very ordinary moment captured the essence of this irony. My husband, Mike, was walking ahead of me. "What did you do to your arm?" I asked, pointing to a large goose egg on his right elbow.

He couldn't think of anything; I paid it no mind. Mike habitually rams around a lot. "You must have knocked it," I concluded, thinking it would disappear soon enough.

On a solo medical visit, however, Mike's doctor saw it differently. The goose egg looked suspicious enough to warrant an MRI. Mike told me the test would rule out a "serotoma." I realized he meant "sarcoma," a soft-tissue cancer.

My husband's primary malady is neurofibromatosis (type 1), abbreviated as NF-1. He has many thousands of neurofibromas--tumors of the nerve endings.

The misbehaving gene for NF-1 follows the same genetic pathway as do malignant neuroendocrine tumors and sarcomas. In this sense, the mutant Ninja Turtle gene has already struck my husband three times: with NF-1, with neuroendocrine cancer and a low-grade sarcoma in 2013.

The MRI report was not good: the 2-inch, brightly lit mass might have been a hematoma (a blood-filled bruise). But without injury, a hematoma seemed unlikely. Or the mass could have been a necrotic sarcoma (a sarcoma beginning to bleed and decay).

Immediately, a team mobilized to deal with the second eventuality. An orthopedic surgeon would perform "limb-salvaging surgery" to save Mike's arm, assisted by a radiation specialist; a plastic surgeon (to help with skin grafting); and a neurosurgeon to deal with the delicate nerve pathways. A whole-body PET scan was ordered, as well as a "core needle" biopsy.

Everything happened so fast. Mike was cleared for surgery. I alone knew how bad it could be.

The biopsy was somewhat encouraging, since the doctor found a small bleeder within the mass itself. However, she cautioned that sarcomas can bleed into themselves. We would have to wait a week to 10 days or longer for the results.

Not so with the PET scan. The alarming report came quickly. Mike's right elbow lit up, indicating a possible neurofibroma undergoing malignant degeneration. There was also evidence the tumor had begun to infiltrate surrounding tissue. The biopsy report would be crucial.

At the end of 10 days, the pathologist was "leaning toward benign." Finally, the conclusion came: A small blood vessel within a neurofibroma on Mike's elbow had burst and bled under the skin, creating a hematoma that hardened in its attempt to resolve itself.

No sarcoma. No surgery. While Mike is still at increased risk for developing a sarcoma, he has dodged a very large bullet.

As have I. My right-handed husband is my right-hand man--the sole driver in our family, the chief cook and bottle-washer who does everything for me so I can devote my time to creative writing, artwork and photography, and politics.

Since extraordinary experiences begin with ordinary events, each day should include simple but heartfelt appreciation for those we love. In the twinkling of an eye, it can all be taken away, leaving no room for thank-yous or goodbyes.